


Lunar Cycle

by deathwailart



Series: The Courts [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Cohabitation, Cunnilingus, Domestic, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Menstruation, Oral Sex, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:23:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's her time of the month and he loves it.  Or the perks to having a werewolf girlfriend when you're a vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lunar Cycle

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a new series I'm working on because it's practically tradition at this stage for my first finished thing for any fandom/verse to be porn.

He knows almost before she does. They both know the cycle of the moon and that her period always arrives at the same time. Double threat she calls it, just as grumpy and sore during the day as she is at night even though the whole house knows that's a lie; they hear or see her transform and look after her. As her boyfriend, he performs most of the after-care. She's always warmer with a flush across her skin so they sleep with the covers off, his cold body pressed tight against hers, getting her whatever she wants and needs. It's not entirely selfless but they pretend it is because he puts in a lot of work and he genuinely does care. Not many boyfriends, vampire or otherwise, wash twigs, mud and blood out of your hair when you go racing through the countryside or sit up and read aloud when you're locked in a sturdy cage in a basement. He's just back from nipping out to the shops on a chocolate, aspirin and pads run, jogging up the stairs to their room when he pauses outside the door. The scent of blood hits him and he fumbles with the door handle, locking it behind him once he's in, shopping bag abandoned on the floor.  
  
“Real smooth tiger,” she teases from the bed. It'd look innocent enough but there's a towel folded beneath her and she's smirking, arms folded.  
  
“If pretty much everything was swapped around you'd be just as eager as I am,” he retorts, wriggling out of his jacket and hauling his t-shirt over his head for good measure. “I got your things, want any now?”  
  
“I'll save them for later now that you're back.” She smiles and crooks her finger to beckon him to the bed where he leans down and kisses her, cupping her face as her hands wander up his chest and over his ribs. She pulls away first and smirks. “Planning to help get my mind off things?”  
  
“Thought you'd never ask,” he groans. It's part of the ritual by now, her teasing, him so eager it should be embarrassing but it's not, not when it's so fucking good with her enjoying what they get up to so much as he arranges himself on the bed between her legs, doing his best not to jostle her when she's sore. The small of her back is always murder, always was she says. He'll give her a nice long massage in the small hours of the morning once she's herself again.  
  
He can't wait to do this, cock achingly hard just from the smell and the thought of it, remembering every other time. Her face is pinched with pain but she lets him get closer, guiding down her clothes (always something nice and loose, flannels or jogging bottoms, her skin over-sensitive from the change that's about to happen over and above the bloating and cramps) with a ragged inhale. Her fingers comb through his hair as he rests his head against the soft skin of her thigh, smoothing out the towel beneath her. Going down on her is one of his favourite things on a good day but when she's bleeding, it's even better for obvious reasons. Still, he needs a moment, just to breathe.  
  
“You okay down there?” She asks with her fingers tangling in his hair.  
  
“Y-yeah, just, y'know.”  
  
“I know, take your time.” The words end with a grunt and tensing of her muscles as a cramp rolls through her body. “Bloody hell,” she says around an exhale and he holds the laugh in for a heartbeat. “Christ, are you going to lie there and sniff me all night? I don't think you'd be as big a fan of me doing that to you.”  
  
“Right, right. You're incredible, you know that?”  
  
“Of course,” and it sounds cocky and assured – and it is – but she's smiling and stroking his chin with her fingers before she raises her hips a fraction of an inch.  
  
Normally he'd kiss his way down her body, fingers stroking and teasing and he'd bury his head between her breasts to suck at them, playing with her nipples. He did that once and she almost kicked him out of the bed; message received: never touch much above the waist on a full moon. He settles with at least kissing her inner thigh, urging her to part her legs a little more as he buries his nose in her curls and fuck the smell of her and the blood just makes his cock harder. It takes a lot of restraint not to drop a hand down to his jeans or to lean against the bed harder so he can get some friction but he manages. As much as he'd like to just dive in and devour her he doesn't because he really does love going down on his partners, always has since he was first introduced to it far too many years ago to count, so he has to draw it out. Always tentative, closed mouth pressing kisses to flushed, sensitive skin, so chaste it nearly feels blasphemous. She growls at him in the back of her throat and that kind of primal sound is something anyone would react to, programmed in at the hunter-gatherer stage only he pulls back, grins and uses his hands to hold her hips down. When she whimpers he smiles and holds her down for the moment so he can do what he wants, nice and slow, just the broad flat of his tongue all the way up to her clit, her spitting out curses at him and trying to move her hips. Iron and salt hits his tongue and he moans against her folds, her fingers pulling him in closer. The first time they ever did this she was too self-conscious to really get into it but now she plants her feet on the bed, knees bent, thighs wide to make room for him and grinds against his face. There's blood and more staining his chin as he spreads her with his fingers dimly aware of her moaning but everything is faint over the thump of her pulse in his ears and the thing that is and isn't a voice at the same time focussing on blood.  
  
She keens with frustration when he moves his mouth and he can't help huffing out a laugh. Now he nips carefully upwards, just tongue and teeth to her clit, teasing the hood back so he can circle her clit with his tongue because this isn't all about him and the blood, it's about her, helping to take the edge off the cramps just a little and to remind her that she can feel something other than pain during the full moon. With a yell her back is arching and if this was just a normal day or night he'd pull back and then it'd be his cock between her folds instead of his fingers or maybe he'd draw back to tease her again and again until she was begging but today he just sucks at sensitive skin and then angles his head so the edge of a fang grazes the root of her clit. Then she's coming in a hot rush with a loud cry, her grip on his hair painful but he keeps going until she falls back and then he's back where he started, obscene wet sound of his lips and tongue and his own moans.  
  
“You taste so good,” he tells her, “can't believe you let me,” he breaks off, “you're incredible,” blood, hot and rich on his tongue and lips and teeth and beneath that the salty-sweet taste of her. She's breathing hard with a sheen of sweat on her skin, heart racing. He gives her time to recover using his hands to see if she's too sensitive to go again and when she presses into the touch of his thumb on her clit he smiles. His tongue replaces his fingers and immediately she tightens around him, hips moving and she comes quickly this time but he doesn't pull back, just lets her keep moving through it, her legs sliding to lie flat as they kick uselessly, feet drumming against the mattress. She arches right up and bends forward when she comes for the third time, almost sitting up and he steadies her with his free hand, humming his own pleasure against her flesh as she jerks and his balls draw tight. He wonders if he'll come from this, just from touching her without a hand on him. It wouldn't be the first time.  
  
When she collapses against the bed again, seemingly boneless he replaces his tongue with a finger, fucking her slowly as he leans forward to lap at her clit. His face is soaking and he loves it and one of her hands that has been in his hair lets go so she can rub her thumb across his bottom lip and then between his teeth and he sucks it eagerly. She clenches around the finger so he adds another, watching as they slide in and out, crooking them to press and rub so she clamps down hard. And because he's still a tease and has a serious oral fixation given his nature, he pulls his fingers out and sucks them as clean as he can. It's worth the murderous look for the frustrated noise she makes but he's not needlessly cruel and his fingers return, a third added this time and he lets her dictate the speed, thumb at her clit to tease, movements never consistent. She's close, the movement of her hips more insistent and his are moving against empty air and the pressure of his cock against the fly of his jeans is unbearable now.  
  
With one hand he manages to get his jeans open and shoved as far down his thighs as he can along with his boxers, one hand on his cock and the other still inside her, three fingers in her cunt and thumb on her clit. It only takes a few strokes before he spills in his hand, leaning heavily against the bed, thumb still rubbing circles as she fucks herself on his fingers until she tightens around him again, only a ragged gasp escaping her as she jerks and trembles. He's swallowing convulsively, chasing the last of the blood in his mouth as she chases after the little aftershocks before lying still, murmuring his name.  
  
“C'mere,” she says and he clambers up onto the bed, mindful of his stained hands to the point of distraction until she grabs the hand he used on himself, the flat of her tongue on his palm, between his fingers and then she's sucking his fingers into her mouth, faint touch of teeth and he laughs and moans at the same time.  
  
“Fuck woman, even I need to recover.” Not that he's not interested. If he could, if she could, then they'd spend all the time of the full moon where she's not a werewolf in bed with his head between her legs. “Should go wash my face,” he adds once he cleans up his other hand but he doesn't bother getting up and ends up wriggling out of his jeans and underwear, toeing his socks off to settle down beside her and she pulls him into her arms so his bloody face rests against her shoulder. They're both tired from this and the full moon to come – he stays with her when she's either running in the woods or locked up in the basement and he's knackered.  
  
“Don't bother,” she murmurs when he's sure she's falling asleep, “we'll have enough time to go again before I need to go downstairs.”  
  
“Any ideas?” He moves so he's on his front, one leg between hers, arm across her belly so he can massage it carefully with the heel of his hand.  
  
“Just you on your back, me on top the way you really like it. I know what you like,” her voice is rough, the words quiet and slurring together as her heart starts to slow and she lets out a tiny yawn before continuing, “letting me have my way with you, blood all over your pretty face.”  
  
“God I love you,” he whispers, holding her just a little tighter.  
  
“I know, I know, I love you too.” There's a hint of nail turning to claw when she pulls him closer in return, that possessive edge she can't control when instinct takes over – he's so lucky to have her and he'll gladly show how grateful he is however and as often as she likes.


End file.
